


Bound

by yellow_crayon



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky likes to be told what to do, Collars, Consensual Kink, Cuddling, Dummy likes to help out, Heavy Petting, Hugs, M/M, Possessive Steve, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Protective Pepper Potts, Steve taking good care of Bucky, Steve writes lots of sticky notes, The avengers help out, Touch-Starved, Translation Available, so many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You become responsible for what you've tamed.</p><p>(Bucky comes back to him slowly. Steve is with him every step of the way. The Avengers help out as best as they can.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158300) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)
  * Translation into Polski available: [Bound (tłumaczenie)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119728) by [erraticmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticmuse/pseuds/erraticmuse)



It starts with small things, insignificant little things Steve would have missed entirely, a misplaced carton of milk, some random book flipped open to the wrong page, the window Steve thinks he closed before he left that morning. He's so busy these days, bouncing back and forth between various SHIELD missions and trying to locate his best friend, Steve hardly ever gets to come back to the barely inhabited apartment complex.

But Steve's not stupid. He starts to notice things, a few scraggly strands of brown hair on the carpet, scratches on the metal surface of the fridge, remnants of a damp footprint.

 _Bucky's been here_.

The realization hits like a solid punch to the gut and Steve feels his heart clench.

Bucky is all alone out there.

But Steve knows not to push too hard too soon, scared out of his mind that Bucky would just take flight again like a frightened bird. Instead, he pretends not to notice the signs, goes about his business and life as usual. He does try to come back to the apartment more often now that he finally has a reason to do so.

Steve casually leaves the leftovers of dinner on the table. He's a bit disappointed when the food is untouched the next morning, but there's a noticeable dip in the carton of milk in the fridge.

Baby steps, he thinks with a smile.

It's become a habit for him to leave food out, marking on his calendar the days Bucky come to visit. It's a Tuesday when his best friend takes a tiny bite out of one of the pancakes he left and Steve feels like the world's proudest chef.

He leaves a sticky note next time, a simple plain yellow one with only one word written in blue sharpie.

 **Hi**.

It's gone by next morning and so's the slice of cheese cake he put out.

Steve puts out a book the next time, one he's picked up from Natasha's Thursday book club. _The old Man and The Sea_. It's a nice one, he thinks Bucky would probably enjoy it.

The book is still lying on its side when he wakes the next morning, but when Steve flips it open, there's a smudge of a grayish thumbprint, almost Bucky's unique way of telling him he'd been there.

Steve puts a pillow and a blanket out on the living room couch. But the neatly folded quilt is never disturbed in the morning when he comes down. He's not disappointed, tries to tell himself Bucky is trying his hardest to find his way back, but still Steve feels like he's not doing enough.

He leaves more sticky notes, random quotes he comes across in his readings, funny things with the Avengers, or just old stories of their past. Bucky hoards all of them.

Steve catches a first glimpse of Bucky since the helicarrier by accident. He's on his way down to the bathroom, eyes half sealed shut with sleep and in a rumpled shirt and soft pants when he sees the shadow by the window. Bucky's robotic arm gleams under the moonlight, his long ragged hair hanging limply around his face, dark and unreadable, still as a statue.

He wants to call out his name, beg Bucky to stay, but Steve knows it will only make things worse. Bucky needs to set his own pace, thaw drop by drop, and Steve is willing to wait it out by his side.

So he just smiles at the dark mass of shadows and closes the door behind him. When Steve comes out of the bathroom, Bucky is gone.

Bucky doesn't come back for a long time, but when he does, Steve comes down the stairs to find the quilt over the couch in a sloppy rumpled pile on the floor. He counts it as a win.

Steve catches more glimpses of him in the apartment, a half-eaten apple, some of Steve's sketchbooks opened on different pages, his toothbrush, placed in the wrong cup. Steve smiles and takes it all in, reminding himself to get Bucky his own set of toothbrush and cup next time he goes for groceries. Bucky is becoming bolder, sometimes letting Steve catch a glimpse of himself at night, staying longer, and eating more out of the fridge. Steve buys him his own coffee cup and it actually feels like Bucky's there, living in the same apartment and sharing the same space, just like the good old days.

He finds Bucky standing in his living room one night, his face half hidden in the dark shadows of the room.

" _Steve_..." He rolls Steve's name in his tongue as if he's trying to remember what it feels like coming out of his mouth. He looks lost and uncertain and dare he say it...hopeful? Steve's mouth feels too dry for words, his eyes burning and heart racing.

"Buck, stay..." He gets two words out before the former Russian assassin drops out of the open window. Steve doesn't get much sleep that night.

It comes up in their conversation by accident, Steve telling the Avengers over a group exercise session that Bucky's been coming over. The guys crowd around him, curious as hell. Steve tells them Bucky's just popping in occasionally. Tony jokes about getting him a collar for his stray cat. Steve smiles along with the rest of the guys, thinking its just a harmless joke, but the next day, Tony hands him a black velvety box with a lewd wink and Steve suddenly feels dread seep into his stomach.

It's a thick leather collar, soft with two lines of fine gold print on the tag in front.

_**James B. Barnes** _

_**Property of Steven G. Rogers.** _

He can't help but imagine the contrast of Bucky's pale milky skin against the dark shiny leather. He feels warmth settle in the pit of his stomach, hot and shameful. Steve drops the box and remembers to hide it in the darkest corner of his sock drawer.

Somehow, everything in the world is out to screw with him, because Steve comes home one evening arms laden with groceries and bread when he sees Bucky crouching on the ground by the couch, the black box open and its contents dumped on the ground. He has the leather collar in his fingers, squinting at the fine print with a pinched expression on his stubbly face. Steve drops his groceries with an earth shattering sound and Bucky jumps up in surprise, eyes wide and mouth slack.

"Bucky, no, it's not what you think..." Steve's bright red in the face, holding up his hands and trying to explain his innocence. A zucchini rolls leisurely by and stops at Bucky's booted foot.

Bucky drops the collar and runs.

Steve sighs and goes to clean up the shattered jar. Somehow Steve can't bring himself to throw the damn thing away.

The next time Steve sees Bucky, the leather collar's hanging limply from his metal fingers, eyes wide. Steve's frozen to the spot, heart pounding and ears flaming red with embarrassment. He watches as Bucky's big blue eyes flicker between the collar and Steve's face. He licks his chapped lips, uncertain.

"For...me...?" His voice is hoarse and rusty from disuse.

"No! It's stupid, I-" The words are barely out of Steve's mouth when Bucky's expression closes off completely, turning back to the cold empty machine-like state. He's out the window before Steve can process what the hell just happened.

He thinks on the incident and Bucky's fascination with the collar. An idea occurs to him, a terrible idea really, but it's the only thing he can think of. Maybe Bucky wants this...Maybe this time he can finally convince Bucky to stay.

It's raining hard the night Bucky finally slips inside again, silent as a shadow. Steve's been spending two weeks of sleepless nights on the couch just to catch him and Bucky freezes when he sees Steve's silhouette on the couch. His eyes dart toward the open window again as if he wants to run. Steve clears his throat when Bucky's stomach rumbles in the silence and pulls out the velvety black box. Bucky's eyes zero in on the object in the box as Steve takes it out slowly. His red lips part a little at the sight and Steve finds the courage to finally speak.

"I got this for you, Buck." He admits out loud. "You've been coming over and I've been feeding you and taking care of you, so..." He stands slowly as he speaks, eyes firmly in contact with Bucky's wide blue ones. He swallows hard. The next words are either going to make Bucky run or Steve will finally be able to touch him.

"Buck, do you want this? Do you want to be...my sweet baby boy, my beautiful pet? I'll take care of you, you'll never have to hurt again." The words are mortifying to say out loud, but Bucky doesn't seem to notice Steve's embarrassment and uncertainty.

Bucky's eyes are hooded and his breathing fast and unsteady when Steve walks slowly to stand in front of him. He holds out the leather collar, heart pounding harshly against his ribs.

Bucky stares at him with wide wide eyes.

He licks his lips and cranes his neck forward without a word, rain and moisture still dripping off his clothes and hair. It's a silent submission. And he suddenly realizes he needs this as much as Bucky, he needs to keep Bucky in his sight, needs to touch... Steve's fingers are trembling when he slowly reaches up and fastens the thick leather collar around his best friend's neck.

Bucky's breathing has stopped. He stands completely still.

"I have you now, it's okay, Bucky." Steve touches his cheek, wet and cold, and Bucky leans into the warmth like a cat seeking affection, the strength seeping out of him like the rainwater pooling at his feet. He slumps against Steve's shoulder, wet face buried against his neck and Steve finally wraps his arms around his lost friend for the first time in seventy years.

"It's okay, I got you now." He whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd had their secrets before, Steve and Bucky, the little dirty ones they kept hidden behind carefully closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chap, hope you guys like it. Leave me awesome comments! And kudos! Kisses!!!

They'd had their secrets before, Steve and Bucky, the little dirty ones they kept hidden behind carefully closed doors. Steve had grown up living in a rundown apartment in Brooklyn Heights, not far from the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and everyone knew back in the day what the sailors used to do for small favors. So Steve had picked certain things up, his and Bucky's combined curiosity pushing them to explore such...proclivities behind closed doors and windows. Not to mention, he'd had a raging crush on his tall handsome best friend ever since the first day Bucky had punched Ernie McQueen in the face for calling Steve a skinny little rat.

There had always been something darkly fascinating and alluring about having Bucky on his knees, plump red lips parted and breathing unevenly at Steve's feet, tiny little Steve Rogers who'd get blown over if the wind was strong enough and Bucky who was strong, muscular and tough. The contrast and power was intoxicating. And it was tiny little Steve who could make Bucky scream in pleasure until his voice gave out, Steve who left delicious red hot welts along Bucky's soft creamy skin, Steve whose cock Bucky could swallow down until tears shown in his big blue eyes. It had been about pleasure, pain and the thrill of committing forbidden acts, but it had also been about love and trust.

Steve can still remember the time he'd mouthed off to some asshole about hurting a dame and gotten his ass kicked. Bucky had come to his rescue like the metaphorical knight in shining armor, but the guy still packed a mean punch. After it ended, Bucky wiped at his bleeding lip, knuckles bruised and scraped, grinning with blood in his teeth as he hauled tiny little Steve Rogers up to his feet.

"You're good, Steve. Decent. And one day the dames will know, trust me." He grinned when he said the words, a bitter savage grin. "And someday, you'll move on without me, have a family, buy a fancy lil' house with a white picket fence."

And after that, Bucky stopped coming to him for those _favors_.

Bucky had started going out with as many ladies he could get his hands on, and Steve had swallowed down the confession lingering on the tip of his tongue and they'd buried their little secret in the past, just something close friends did when they were drunk and out of their minds. What had Bucky called it? Fooling around. Right. Everyone fooled around once in a while.

And so what if Steve had snuck a few longing glances at Bucky during one of their double dates, or if Bucky's thumb had brushed unintentionally against Steve's jaw, they were friends, and friends could only want in secret.

Now, Steve doesn't know what he wants anymore.

He loves Bucky with all his heart, wants nothing but for him to get better, but he's not sure what Bucky wants, what the Winter Soldier wants. And the last thing he wants is to hurt Bucky again.

The collar _binds_ Bucky, _grounds_ him, gives him the chance to be vulnerable and needy, strips away the tough cold exterior to reveal the pain that needs to be soothed. Steve's almost grateful of the thing when he slowly maneuvers his best friend into the bathroom, his hand gently but firmly guiding Bucky along. It feels familiar almost, lapsing back to their old routines when Bucky had set Steve's blood boiling with the whole pretend master/pet thing. Only now it's not for the fun. Bucky needs this, so does Steve. He's pliant under Steve's careful fingers and lets Steve take away his dirty worn leather jacket, soggy and soaked through with rain. God knows how long he's been crouching outside Steve's window. Bucky's shoulders tense up when Steve's fingers touch the black shirt he has underneath, the last layer that separated bare skin and the outside world.

"It's okay, baby, I got you. You've been so good for me." Bucky seems to like the endearments because he slowly relaxes and allows Steve to pull the wet thing off him. Steve keeps up a litany of praises, but Bucky's fingers are like iron bars when he gets to the dirty black military pants.

" **Nyet**." His voice is cold, unyielding, still not fully thawed.

Steve bites his lips at the Russian word and offers Bucky a comforting smile. "It's okay, we'll do things at your pace, but you've got to trust me right, baby? Let me take care of you." He's not sure this is the way he should speak to Bucky, but he seems to like it, so Steve continues, ignoring how hot and red his ears are. He hasn't done this in years and that had been in private, it is going to take some time getting used to.

He manages to coax Bucky into a sitting position in the tub with sweet praises and gentle touches, his eyes drooping and breath finally evening out in the warm water. Steve rubs his hands over the soft cool skin of Bucky's shoulders, massaging the tense muscles and letting the hot water seep into Bucky's soggy pants and over his legs, abdomen...

"You've been so good, Bucky. It's okay now. I've got you now, so you can relax." Steve cards his fingers slowly through Bucky's hair, massaging the bubbles into his stringy brown hair, soft but tangled. Bucky lets out a tiny moan, his head going limp in Steve's lap when he applies gentle pressure with his thumbs against Bucky's temples. He's practically purring now, plump soft red lips parted and pink tongue shyly flickering out to lick his pearly white teeth. Steve remembers Bucky's smile, the old Bucky, mischievous and teasing. The only way to shut Bucky up had been to cover his mouth with his own or force Bucky to his knees and wipe that teasing sassy smirk off physically.

Bucky looks gaunt and haunted now, the mischief no longer present in his tortured eyes. Steve can count the knobs of his spine when he bends over, sharp jagged bones threatening to puncture skin. Steve sighs and gently rinses the soapy shampoo out of Bucky's hair, untangling the strands and running a comb through, not minding his own soaking pants.

Bucky lets him run his hands over his chest, the skin now warm and flushed from the steam. Steve's hands gently strip away the dirt and grit on Bucky's skin, trying physically to cleanse him of his hurts. Bucky is soft and pliant under his hands, utterly silent and obedient. It pains Steve to see him like this, broken and grounded. But there's a part of him that's relieved Bucky is finally here, finally willing to let Steve take care of him.

Bucky shakes his head and flinches away when Steve tries to touch the collar, wanting to take it off and dry the thing properly. He quickly discards the idea at Bucky's negative reaction. They'd never gotten so far as to actually use these products, collars and whips, Steve had just stuck to dirty talk and nicknames, the occasional spanking when Bucky poked him intentionally in the old days. It had been their little kink before, back when Bucky had been all smirks and swaggers, back when he wasn't so... _broken_. Steve doesn't really know how to do this now. Bucky looks uncertain and scared again, his fingers clutching at Steve's arm so hard it hurts.

"Please...don't take it away...I'll be good...please Steve..." His words are desperate and Bucky's voice cracks in panic, curling his body in on himself.

"No, Bucky, I'm not going to take it away, I just wanted to dry it off." Steve's heart clenches in pain and he sits down on the bed, making sure to move slowly so as not to set Bucky off again. He's almost painfully light in Steve's arms when Steve gathers him close.

He suddenly remembers Bucky's bloodstained smile in that filthy little alleyway, full of life and mischief and a soft wistful sadness.

_You're good, Steve. Decent. And one day the dames will know. You'll move on without me, have a family, buy a fancy lil' house with a white picket fence._

_And I'll visit some time._

Steve tucks Bucky's face against his chest and rubs his hand over the prominent curve of his spine, feeling the thump of an erratic heartbeat beneath his fingers. The truth is, he's never imagined having a family with anyone else but Bucky.

"I will _never_ leave you behind, Buck." He says quiet and firm, a promise.

_I will wait, wait for you to find your way back to me. And I will never let go again._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, his name, called out with such love and care, with so much hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, still no smut. Ugh. I got carried away with so much feels. But there's going to be. Lots. I hope. I just wanted Bucky to feel a tiny bit better before the smut. 
> 
> One reader requested Steve feeding Bucky milk, which frankly speaking I secretly love the idea of. *blush* and yeah, gonna try to add that in. 
> 
> So, I'm open to new suggestions. Very open. XD

Bucky, his name, called out with such love and care, with so much hurt.

But what about his other name? The one screamed and whispered in fear.

_Winter Soldier._

He watches the blonde man sleep, his breath even and face relaxed, mesmerized by him, helplessly drawn to him like a moth to flame. He doesn't remember much about before, just jagged flashes: the helicarrier, feeling the man's arms around his neck in a chokehold, the man dropping his shield and refusing to fight him.

Falling.

Seeing him fall and feeling so much pain it made his eyes water.

 _Steve_.

This is Steve Rogers. _His best friend_. He has a best friend.

Everything is still so fuzzy and confusing, but he can memorize every single word from the plaques at the Smithsonian exhibit, having spend so much time staring at the display in wonder. His name is James "Bucky" Barnes and he 'died' saving Steve Rogers, Captain America, from harm. It seems a decent way to die. But he's not dead.

Maybe he should have stayed dead.

He'd followed him, Steve, found out where he lived and snuck inside. Excitement and fear, he'd started getting these signals, brainwaves and emotions, no longer the automated machine he'd been designed to become. And along came an endless longing. He ached to see this man, Steve Rogers. The emotion burned like an insistent fever underneath his skin. He came as often as he dared, sometimes even close enough to touch the sleeping figure on the bed. But he'd never allowed himself the guilty pleasure. He had to be so so careful.

And then Steve had accidentally left out a plate of food on the table in the kitchen, a ripple in the calm water, a disturbance in his already comfortable habit. There was no longer a series of code for every actions, no command. Everything he did, his brain supplied the incentive. It was as addictive as it was frightening. He'd spent hours staring at the thing, restless and confused. It sat there innocently in its pristine plate and mocked him. _Was it meant for him_? A memory fluttered past his eyes, a shadowy house, an old man asking him mockingly whether he wanted some milk. He'd glanced at the fridge for a while before he made his move, fishing out the carton and taking a long gulp of the cold creamy liquid. He'd replaced it before running off, heart pounding and chest warm despite the cold heavy weight of the milk in his stomach. He'd puked it all up twenty minutes later, not accustomed to digesting anything anymore, but he couldn't help but take a bite of the soft sweet thing Steve left out the next time, even though he paid the price by heaving it all out painfully in a dirty dank alley. He could taste again, however brief, however painful it was afterward, the soft texture and sweetness with a tang of lemony tartness. Like everything else, it was strangely addictive. His brain supplied the images and memories in disjointed flashes of color and sound, like an old movie projector trying to make itself work again.

The next time it happened, he'd been about to leave when he spotted the slip of sticky paper. It had writing. He'd snatched it up and bolted before his panicked brain could assess the situation, the hardened Winter Soldier part of him taking over whenever there was the threat of danger or distress. Steve had known, was he going to be arrested? He'd loitered around for days before he deemed it safe to enter again.

Something had changed.

There was always some form of food on the table when he dropped by, like Steve had actually welcomed his presence. Steve left him a book. Bucky had bolted for the window in panic when he accidentally left a wet smear of grit on the pristine pages. Steve didn't retaliate by punishing him or taking away the food. Instead, he'd left a blanket. It was even more confusing than some of his most difficult assassination jobs, this little dance between the two of them.

Steve had left him more of those sticky colored papers, neat handwritten words printed on them. Bucky took them all, made sure to keep them nice and dry in the little secret breast pocket pocket against his chest when it rained. He'd pick out a nook or cranny in some abandoned building and slowly spread them out, eyes roaming hungrily over each word, ingraining them into his head. There had been one particular note that had tickled his ribs endlessly, a few short sentences by some guy named Bill Cosby. Steve always made sure to write the original words along with the person who quoted them.

_People can be more forgiving than you can imagine. But you have to forgive yourself, let go of what's bitter and move on._

He'd thought hard about it, all night in fact, under the leaky roof and in the damp and cold. The soft heat of the rising sun had roused him, a flash of laughing blue eyes and the lingering touches of ghostly hands on his bare skin causing him to nearly fall off his rafter like an old barn owl. Could Steve forgive him for the horrors he'd done? Could he _forgive himself_? He'd hesitated the next time, let the blonde man catch a glimpse of him. The little smile Steve had given him had been ingrained into his mind after that, pushing him to become bolder, coy and fleeting, but bolder nonetheless. He could keep Steve waiting, wanting to see him for days. The thought had sent a coil of strange heat through his abdomen.

Then he'd discovered the collar, read the small silver etchings on the plate and even surprised himself with how much he desired to slip the thing over his neck.

To _belong_ to Steve. To be owned. Made his property. To finally be given a reason to _stay_.

He licked his lips unsteadily and swayed on his feet at the thought, cheeks warming and gut tightening in anticipation.

He wanted. No, _needed_.

But Steve hadn't. At least judging by the loud noise of him dropping his bag and turning beet red in the process.

He'd run. Again. Ashamed and angry.

But Steve hadn't thrown the collar away. Maybe he wanted...as well? But he'd gotten the same reaction as before when he opened his mouth to ask, Steve had blushed crimson and gone all fidgety.

He decided not to return for a few days, just to be safe. He didn't want Steve to despise him, so he'd wait it out. But like a restless child, he couldn't stay still for much long, at least now that the weight of punishment was no longer hanging over his head like an ax.

Steve had been waiting for him, sitting there on the couch when Bucky had eased the window open and stepped inside, dripping from head to toe with rain.

_Do you want to be my sweet baby boy?_

_God, yes_. He wanted.

The wild feral part of him, the Winter Soldier who was never far beneath the surface, howled his disagreement. He would not be collared like an animal  again. Never.

But Bucky wanted. Desperately wanted Steve again. And so here he was.

 

* * *

 

He reaches out a hand, the flesh one, and touches Steve's cheek carefully, his soft blonde hair and the fullness of his lips. He himself can't sleep, too many nightmares and too much jittery energy. He's afraid of what his body can do when he's not fully conscious to control it. What if the bad part of him takes control and comes out? What if he hurts Steve? The thought is frightening and he's off the bed and huddled in a corner before he realizes what he's done. Maybe he should run again. Maybe...

He remembers the blood and anger, the hum of his mechanized arm and the solid weight of a gun in his hands. He'd slid a thin sharp knife into Steve's shoulder, cutting past the Kevlar and skin, breaching muscle and spilling blood. He'd shot Steve, twice, three times, punched and kicked at him. Why was Steve still here, so open and vulnerable in front of him? One twist of his arm and that would be all it takes, the little dark voice at the back of his mind says.

Bucky flinches away from the thought and pinched his flesh arm until an ugly bruise blossoms underneath the pale skin. The pain drives the Soldier away and clears his mind. He's panting and trying to keep the noises down when Steve shifts on the bed, eyes opening and spotting him huddled in the corner.

"Bucky? What are you doing over th-"

Steve doesn't get to finish his words, because the Soldier part of him rears again and snaps into action, the ugly monstrous part of him, the part he's been trying to suppress for the last few months, making sure the Winter Soldier was completely buried, making sure it was absolutely safe to approach Steve again. The wait had been torturous, constantly at war with himself. But the Winter Soldier is not buried deep enough, his killer instincts are burned too deep.

Steve rolls off the edge of the bed and shoots upright, barely blocking the kick he sends at his stomach. He's a fast lean blur, the human weapon taking over again. Steve looks bewildered, his expression quickly shifting to weary tension when the Soldier works his arm up and down menacingly and braces his body for battle.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" Steve asks quietly, hurt in his voice.

"защиты"

_Protect. To protect._

Something like realization lights up in Steve's eyes and he takes the chance, lunging for the man's throat. Steve doesn't dodge him this time, catching the blunt of his punch and wrapping his arms around his shoulder, pinning his struggling body to his chest with his arms. Steve ignores the searing pain of metal fingers digging against his unprotected shoulder blades, ignores the curses and struggling body in his arms, just tightens his grip until they're so close it's impossible to tell one from the other.

"Я люблю тебя." Steve says.

The words whispered against his ear stops him in his tracks, dark blue eyes widening in disbelief and metal fingers going lax against Steve's injured back. The Winter Soldier freezes in shock. He wouldn't. It couldn't be. He doesn't deserve this terrible kindness. Instead of pushing him back, Steve tightens his hold and draws him closer.

"Let me protect him from now on, protect the both of you. I don't care what you've done in the past, whether you're Bucky or the Winter Soldier or both. I accept who you are. You're not a monster." Steve Rogers's voice is a fierce determined whisper in his ear.

His heart stops.

"You're mine, my burden to bear. _Mine to love_."

A confession. A promise.

How can he not fall?

 

* * *

 

Bucky dreams.

There's an endless field of yellow wild flowers. He looks down at his hands, his two healthy flesh hands. Bucky blinks when metal fingers reach out from the edge of his vision and he looks up to see his own broken reflection staring back at him with those dark tortured eyes, the ugly black muzzle attached to the Soldier's pale face. His monstrous counterpart. His twin.

Their fingers connect. Metal against flesh.

The Winter Soldier leans forward, the scent of blood strong on his dark clothes. Bucky stares at him cautiously when he removes the mouth guard with a soft hiss of air and presses his lips to Bucky's ear.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes, there are fingers in his hair, soft and gentle. Bucky looks up into Steve's worried face and feels guilt wash over himself. He'd been bad. He'd hurt Steve.

"Are you feeling better, sweetie?" Steve turns to give him a glass of water and Bucky catches a glimpse of dark bruises and lines scored down Steve's back, stark against the whiteness of his shirt.

"I..." He swallows painfully. Would Steve throw him out for this?

"Don't. Stop thinking about it, Bucky. None of it is your fault. Come here, baby." Steve's palm feels nice against his cheek, blue gaze fond and warm. He strokes Bucky's frazzled hair, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and Bucky suddenly remembers that quote he'd spent so much time staring at.

_People can be more forgiving than you can imagine..._

Maybe he should learn to forgive himself.

He surprises Steve by leaning forward and pressing his face into Steve's shoulder, the first sign of reciprocating affection. "Thank you, Stevie." He says quietly, the old nickname coming naturally to his lips. Steve's eyes are slightly moist when he lets out a soft shaky breath and draws him into a slow comfortable hug, and Bucky thinks he would do anything for this man. Anything. A million times and more.

He remembers the words whispered into his ear in that voice, not so cold and dead anymore, and smiles a little.

For once, the Winter Soldier agrees with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wants to recover so he's be trying to alienate the weapon part of him, which was why I decided to depict then both, and with Steve's help he can finally learn to accept that part of him. 
> 
> Then we move into smut. I think I'm horrible at writing D/S kink. Jeez. 
> 
> Leave me some comments?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's cleaning up the mess from a few days ago when he looks up from the pile of laundry and sees Bucky perched on the couch cushions, his hair a soft brown halo around his face as he gazes out of the floor-to-ceiling window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was REALLY HARD TO WRITE!!! Jesus f-ck. 
> 
> I had a CRAZY WEEKEND! And a really stressful week last week, so updates have been slow. 
> 
> I'm sorry. Leave me some love. :>

Steve's cleaning up the mess from a few days ago when he looks up from the pile of laundry and sees Bucky perched on the couch cushions, his hair a soft brown halo around his face as he gazes out of the floor-to-ceiling window.

He looks peaceful. Still a little skittish and unused to being in close proximity with another human being, but he's getting there. Steve's finally coaxed him into sleeping on the bed with him, although he still needs a little bit of extra effort to put to sleep. Steve doesn't mind reading to Bucky until his throat feels warm and scratchy. He's rewarded with the sight of Bucky's pale face, finally smooth and relaxed as he drifts to sleep, his messy brown head a gentle reassuring weight against Steve's shoulder.

What he wouldn't do to wake up to that weight on his chest every morning...

He's digging through the pockets of the soggy dirty leather jacket Bucky had been wearing (a habit from the old days really), when his fingers close over the small pile of paper. Steve's eyes widen when he sees the little scraps of notes he's been writing Bucky over the past month or so.

Every single note.

"Can I keep them, please?" A scratchy soft voice asks and Steve whirls around to see Bucky inches from his face, blue eyes uncertain. He's trying to look indifferent, but the restless twitchy fingers inching toward the post-it-notes are a dead giveaway. Steve's heart clenches.

"Of course you can keep them, Buck. I can write more if you like, show you some pictures too." He smiles and pulls Bucky close, planting a small kiss on his best friend's forehead. Bucky freezes for a fraction of a second before leaning his weight against Steve and soaking up the affection like an eager sponge. He doesn't pull away when Steve takes his hand.

"Okay." Bucky says, soft and grateful.

 

* * *

 

"Can you read to me?" Bucky asks him on Monday when the sky outside flashes with lightning and rain pelts the windows of their apartment. Steve wraps Bucky in a thick blanket and they cuddle on the bed, Bucky's face pillowed on Steve's chest while he reads their latest book, Moby Dick.

Bucky likes classics.

"Can you brush my hair for me?" Bucky asks on Tuesday and Steve hides his smile against Bucky's wild tangled locks as he works the knots out of his dark curls. He pulls the hair into a loose tail when he's done and smiles down at Bucky with his chin propped on the other man's head. Bucky flashes a tiny smile back. Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head.

It doesn't take long for him to figure out what Bucky is doing, asking Steve to do various things and asking for permission whenever he himself wants something. He's gotten used to it now, although it hadn't been easy at first.

He'd freaked out quietly the first time Bucky asked permission to use the bathroom, horrified that maybe Hydra had abused him like this before, but upon close questioning and observation, it wasn't entirely Hydra's fault. It had to do with the collar, or partly, and Bucky's single-minded determination to be Steve's "good boy". He'd taken on the role of "pet" quite literally, much to Steve's embarrassed fascination. The thing was, Steve wasn't sure how much of their past Bucky could actually remember, wasn't certain Bucky even knew they'd been close before. Intimate.

Steve had dialed Tony, not aware that the billionaire had put him on speaker until everyone started asking about Bucky and teasing Steve about his "stray". He'd blushed himself silly and slammed the phone down so hard the receiver broke in half. And then Clint had called him on a private line, explaining with a quiet laugh that things like this were absolutely normal.

"It's not about the kink really, Cap." Clint had said, a knowing weight in his voice. "It's about trust, placing yourself wholly within the hands of another human being and being treasured by them, kept safe and accepted as who you are."

"He's guilty and frightened and confused, you're the only solid anchor he has, so naturally he would want you to tell him what to do, take away the frightening choices and support him. Making his own decisions will probably distress him."

He had thought about those words for a long time and later that night, when Bucky sat hunched over his own plate with an uncertain frown, Steve had reached over, drawn his best friend half-way into his lap and gently spoon-fed him the soup. The small grateful smile Bucky had given him made every ounce of mortified embarrassment worth it.

Bucky doesn't flinch anymore when Steve moves around behind him, which is another win for Steve. Maybe he should put up a board, one more point for Steve Rogers and one less for Hydra.

Steve uses the cold weather as an excuse to curl around him during the night, lying and saying that Bucky feels warmer. He smiles when Bucky presses back minutely to share his body heat.

They're getting there.

 

* * *

 

Bucky's surprisingly light when stripped out of his uniform. Steve can count the number of his ribs underneath the pale milky skin. He needs more food, his best friend. Steve wants to see him fill out more. Bucky looks too fragile, too delicate these days, Steve's shirt collar occasionally slipping to reveal one boney shoulder.

"Come on, Buck. One more bite." Steve coaxes gently and holds up the fork. Bucky's eyes flicker between the fork and his stomach, a cute little crease appearing on his forehead as he contemplates what to do. In the end, he caves and leans forward to wrap his lips around the piece of chicken on Steve's fork and chews obediently while Steve watches with a pleased smile. Bucky opens his mouth to show he'd actually swallowed this time and Steve can't help the laugh that comes out of his mouth, waving his consent for Bucky to run off to the couch to watch TV.

"I'm going to take a shower, Bucky. You should get ready for bed soon, baby." Steve's pretty much done for the day. It's nearly nine and he wants Bucky to develop good sleeping habits. He's starting to get the hang of this, speaking his words in a firm commanding tone and lapsing back to soft praises and affectionate touches. Bucky seems to like him this way, and Steve wants to see that tiny timid smile more often.

Steve had requested a long over-due vacation away from SHIELD after he'd successfully 'bagged and collared' Bucky and he'd finally gotten the hang of doing his work over SHIELD's private network.

It's nice being away from the rest of the 21st century world for a while, the sharp edges of buildings softening back to familiar comforting shapes and memories, getting his old friend back, and being able to smell Bucky's familiar scent over the sheets again.

Steve steps under the spray and hesitantly takes himself into his hand, feeling the hard throb of his pulse as he slowly jerks his erection. He's never had the urge to sleep with anyone since waking up from the ice, too busy with catching up to speed on everything in the new era, but now, now Bucky is here...

It feels good, slow warm tingles of sensation pulsing up his spine as he moves his hand, almost like the feeling of waking up from the thaw and getting back the sensations in his limbs again. Steve lets his mind wander, recalling Bucky's cocky little smirk when he won his fights, the way he used to suck on his lower lip when he was concentrating particularly hard on something, and his blue eyes, dark with desire and glazed as he scored red hot lines down Steve's back.

His eyes jerk open in shock. The last image, he hadn't dragged up from the good old days. He'd seen long tangled hair and the silvery glint of the synthetic limb.

Shit.

Steve groans into his fist and closes his other hand around his leaking erection again, movements rough and punishing now, hot tingling pleasure laced with an intoxicating edge of pain, his balls tightening in anticipation of his orgasm...

"Steve?"

He opens his eyes to find Bucky frozen to the spot by the bathroom doorway, one hand forgotten on the knob, eyes wide and focused on the spot between Steve's legs. He'd forgotten to lock the door.

"Buck, I, it's not what you think!" Steve tumbles out of the tub, jerks a towel around his waist and tries to ignore the insistent throb of his erection as he steers Bucky quickly out the door toward their bedroom. He tells Bucky to stay for a few minutes while he sort out his 'problem' and tries not to blush too much.

He bunches the wet towel around his waist and stands to leave when Bucky's fingers close around his wrist, his gaze lowered shyly. "Can I..." He begins, a pretty pink flush crawling slowly up his neck. Steve stares at the collar around his best friend's neck and feels his heart skip a beat.

Bucky bites his lower lip and a pink tongue peeks out to wet the red skin. "I want to make you feel good..." He says finally.

Steve sighs and all the tension leaves him with one heavy exhale. He rubs his hand gently over Bucky's lowered head. "No. Okay? You're not thinking straight, baby. I don't want to take advantage of you."

Bucky makes a strangled noise, halfway between anger and desperation. Steve rubs a thumb under his jaw and lifts his face, there's desire and hope in those eyes, and hurt, rejection. He shakes his head, tracing Bucky's smooth cheekbone with a gentle hand.

"Bucky, I don't want to hurt you. You need time." He says firmly and turns to go back to clean up his mess in the bathroom.

"I remember, okay?" The words stop Steve in his tracks. Bucky's head is still lowered, long hair throwing his expression into shadows, but Steve can hear a wavering break in his voice. "I remember how you used to...take care of me and I want it...want all of it."

"Bucky..." Steve doesn't know what to say anymore. He settles with tipping Bucky's chin up again, looking into those familiar and foreign eyes. Steve feels his resolve crumbling bit by bit.

Plump red lips part and Steve feels his thumb slide into Bucky's warm wet mouth, his pale cheeks hollowing as he sucked on the digit, his lashes fluttering. Bucky whines softly and the vibrations make Steve swallow hard, his mouth suddenly too dry. Bucky pulls off with a wet slurp that sounds way too loud in the quiet bedroom and nuzzles his face into Steve's palm, his collar flashing silver in the strip of light from the bathroom door. Steve can't breath.

" _Please let me be your good boy, Stevie._ " He breathes against the flesh of Steve's palm.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He wavers, mind warring between rationality and arousal. Bucky looks up at him, hopeful and sweet. Expectant.

He can't push him away again. Not like this.

" _Okay_." Steve groans and closes the distance between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they were younger, Steve loved Bucky's hands. Strong and elegant they were, an unstoppable force of nature against the bullies who picked on Steve, and so caring and gentle against the paper-thin skin of Steve's hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea how to do D/S, so when I get to it again, I will add the tags again. *runs away in shame*

When they were younger, Steve loved Bucky's hands. Strong and elegant they were, an unstoppable force of nature against the bullies who picked on Steve, and so caring and gentle against the paper-thin skin of Steve's hips. Back in the old days, Bucky could envelope his narrow waist with both hands spread warm and heavy across Steve's belly, but he'd never left any bruises. He could wrap those warm long fingers around Steve's thin bird-like ones just to keep him warm and Steve had loved every second of contact.

Now Steve's the one with the huge hands.

Words escape him as Bucky slowly slides down to kneel at his feet, long brown curls whispering across his pale shoulder, the collar gleaming sinfully in the dim light. Steve's breath catches in his lungs at the sight of those beautiful fingers across his lap, drawing the wet towel away to reveal his leaking erection, flushed red and urgent. He looks up, blue gaze wide with wonder and what Steve is sure he's mistaken as excitement.

"Bucky!" Steve can't control the gasp when Bucky's cool smooth fingers finally meet his throbbing flesh, a shock of pleasure traveling down his spine from the contact.

This is wrong. He shouldn't take advantage.

Bucky licks his lips and nuzzles his soft cheek into Steve's lap and the Captain's hands fly to clutch at the edges of the bed-frame. He watches in fascination as Bucky opens his lips and sucks the tip of his leaking dick into that hot wet mouth, long lashes fluttering shut with a soft groan. Steve's stomach muscles clench hard, fighting against the urge to thrust himself fully inside, to seek more of that hot sinful pleasure. Instead, his hand goes to Bucky's hair, carding through the soft messy curls just the way Bucky used to touch him, trying to convey through his fingertips just how much he loves him.

"Steve," Bucky looks up at him and Steve traces one pale smooth cheek, his fingers gentle.

"Buck, come here." He finds himself saying, voice gentle but firm. Bucky looks like he wants to protest, a flash of panic and self-loathing passing through his eyes. He looks like he wants to run again. Steve's fingers latch onto the back of the leather collar, grounding him, and Bucky's eyes flutter shut after a moment's pause. He allows Steve to guide him onto the bed, body language utterly submissive.

"Look at me." Steve orders and slate blue eyes slit open to focus on him.

Steve leans down and kisses him, heart clenching when Bucky's eyed widen in surprise and his body stiffens.

 _"_ I love you, Buck. _"_ He says firmly and Bucky tries his best to avoid his eyes, a soft reddish flush crawling up his neck. Steve smiles.

"I love you. I love your smile," he plants a kiss against Bucky's lips, "your eyes," another kiss, "your skin, your arms, your fingers..." Bucky's cheeks are flushed red when Steve takes both hands and presses soft tender kisses onto each knuckle. Bucky makes a soft strangled whine when Steve kisses his way down his heaving chest and abdomen, slowly peeling off his loose sweat pants. Bucky's body tenses suddenly.

Steve puts his hands on his thighs, "It's okay, let me love you, Buck. Please, baby. Let me take care of you..." He murmurs soft praises into the silky smooth skin of Bucky's inner thighs, fallen open once more, and peppers soft kisses down to his erection. Bucky tries to cover himself with both hands, eyes wide and hair disheveled.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to want. Time for me to make you feel good." Steve eases his hands away and gently sucks Bucky into his mouth. He's warm and throbbing with life, reminding Steve his best friend and lover is actually here, lying underneath him, body arching under his fingers and breath hitching in pleasure.

"It's okay...it's okay, Bucky. You're my good boy, so good." He whispers the words like a mantra against the soft pink shell of Bucky's ear, pressing him down into the sheets with his larger bulk and letting their bodies align. Steve can feel the rapid flutter of Bucky's heart against his own steadier slower one. He wraps his arms gently around Bucky's tense shoulders and slowly rock their hips together, the rhythm gentle and relaxing. Bucky's breath hitches occasionally, muffled and wet against Steve's neck, soft tremors wracking his body. He reaches out to Steve blindly when he comes, Steve's name a reverent prayer upon his lips as warm sticky wetness spreads over his heaving chest.

"I love you, Buck." Steve murmurs, leaning down for another kiss. Bucky's eyes are dazed and wide, eyelashes clumped together wetly, lips parted and still panting softly from his orgasm, but he slides his arms around Steve's shoulders with a faint hesitant smile.

"Me too." Bucky says quietly.

Steve smiles back and gently lifts himself off Bucky's warm body, his own embarrassing erection still jutting proudly from between his legs. Bucky looks like he's calmed down enough, so Steve probably has about five minutes to take care of his own problem, not that he needs any more stimulation. Watching Bucky come undone beneath him already has him on the edge of orgasm.

"Where are you going?" Bucky sounds puzzled. Steve feels his face flush in mortification.

"Uh, I have to take care of this," he admits honestly after an awkward pause, cheeks flushing when Bucky's eyes flicker down to his dick and widen slightly. Bucky's cheeks turn pink and Steve stares in amazement when he drops his gaze and parts his thighs in invitation.

"Steve..." Bucky begins, but Steve is already standing up.

"No, you're not ready, Buck. We can go slow. You're safe now, we have all the time in the world, baby. No need to rush this." He says firmly, leaning down to plant a kiss on Bucky's forehead. Arms reach up and wrap around his neck, pulling him down toward the bed. Caught by surprise, Steve stumbles and drops down on one knee.

"Bucky!"

"Stevie...I want this..." Steve draws in a sharp breath when Bucky's moist lips press against his ear. "I want you to make me yours again...please..."

He's imagined this moment a thousands time before, Bucky on top of him, eyes sparkling and laughing, or Bucky licking his lips in that teasing way as Steve holds him down and... But reality is far different from his fantasies. Bucky's body is both pliant and urgent underneath him, his pupils blown and cheeks flushed. Steve has to put his hands on his hips to stop Bucky from taking him in too fast.

"It's okay, Bucky. Nice and slow." Steve tries to sound reassuring and comforting, but his voice is hoarse and wrecked, laced heavily with arousal.

Bucky's body is warm and wet, stretched taunt like a bow, his legs parted. Steve groped blindly for his fingers, lacing their hands together tightly when he finally bottoms out, white dots dancing behind his closer lids. Steve's body feels too big for his skin, tingles and sparks dancing along the sweaty curve of his spine. Bucky sucks in a wet gasping breath, lips swollen from biting.

" _I can feel you inside.._." He whispers in amazement, lifting their joint hands and pressing down on the fluttering muscles of his abdomen, a silent groan slipping past his lips when Steve's cock throbs deep inside, an intimate ache, his intimate ache. " _You're so big, Stevie. Christ."_

"Bucky!" Steve's hips give an involuntary twitch when Bucky bears down on him, his body clenching tight. He sounds almost like his old self, and Steve can almost catch a hint of his old Brooklyn accent underneath the Russian one. Steve feels warmth prickling at the corners of his eyes. Bucky is finally in his arms again. Bucky is here, in the twenty-first century, not sprawled on an old couch in 1934, not falling off the train, not in Hydra's clutches, but here.

Here. With Steve.

"Hi." He whispers.

Bucky's mouth curls up into a ghost of his old grin, "hi to you too," he says.

Steve leans down and kisses him, pressing Bucky down into the sheets and slowly moving his hips, sliding out and rocking back in, his movements languid and smooth, unhurried or rushed for the first time. They don't have to hide anymore. Here in the privacy of their home, Steve can take all the time in the world to worship Bucky the way he deserves. Bucky's gasp of pleasure gets muffled between their joint mouths, his fingers tightening around Steve's.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm, hearts pounding in sync, and it's more than making love. It's their way of making sure they're still here, reassuring each other that they will be okay.

It feels like an eternity before Steve's rhythm finally falters and he leans down to bury his face in Bucky's neck, sucking on the soft pale skin of his neck, picking up enough speed and force behind his thrusts to make the bed creak and groan underneath their undulating bodies. Bucky reaches up and wraps his arms around his neck, and Steve pulls him close with his hand splayed huge and solid against the small of Bucky back.

The orgasm takes Steve by surprise, like a punch in the gut, stealing his breath away as Bucky clenched around him, his own hot release painting their thighs white. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's still-trembling body, ignoring the mess between them, and peppering soft kisses along Bucky's neck.

"You were so good, so beautiful, baby. Such a good boy, Buck." Steve murmurs his praises and Bucky makes a tiny pleased noise, settling down in his arms contentedly, curling his fingers back into Steve's.

Steve's slowly mapping Bucky's skin with gentle kisses when he notices the slightly darker patch of skin along Bucky's metal arm. It's the first good look he gets of the synthetic arm, the first time Bucky stays still long enough for him to take in the details. There are rough scars around the shoulder joint, faded but deep, and Steve can see tiny dark veins underneath the skin. Created not with love and care, but rough craftsmanship and cruel intentions. Steve feels anger settle along with sadness in his chest, heavy and stifling. Bucky makes a displeased noise when Steve kisses his shoulder, pressing his lips against the scar-roughened skin.

"Does it hurt?" He draws back with a frown. Bucky looks up at him and shakes his head wordlessly.

"Bucky, baby, you know how I feel about you lying to me." Steve's voice is firm, concern and worry taking over. Bucky ducks his head and bites his lip silently.

"It hurts a little...but I'm used to it." He says finally, voice flat.

Steve sighs and pulls him closer, rewarding his honesty with a kiss. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to make a few calls, see if a certain genius can help us out."

"I'm sorry." Bucky says sadly.

"It's going to be okay," Steve says, tracing invisible patterns into the skin of Bucky's flesh shoulder as he settles down against Steve's chest. But Steve knows he's not going to get much sleep tonight, not while knowing that Bucky's in constant pain.

He sighs again and gathers Bucky close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Avengers Next Chappie!!!! Tony and his awesome screwdriver.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You little slut, Dummy!" Stark exclaims disapprovingly, but Dummy is too busy drooling thin wisps of coolant onto Bucky's jeans.
> 
> There's a small pause.
> 
> Then Bucky slowly reaches out his other hand and pets it on the nozzle awkwardly.
> 
> Dummy chirps happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be fluffy cuddly warmth and cotton candies from now on? Maybe mixed occasionally with a bit of angst. I'm going to do a couple of more chapters before wrapping this up! Hopefully I can practice me D/S porn writing skills. Arg! 
> 
> WARNINGS: Dum-E being adorable. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!!

It doesn't really hurt anymore, the arm, like a half-dead nerve, occasionally creating a pathetically small spark of pain, but otherwise dead to the world, numb and worn-out, like how he feels without Steve there to coax him to life.

He feels like the statue in that story Steve told him, turned to stone and cursed to stand there, forever waiting for the one to set him free.

He knows Steve is the one, and when Steve praises him with that honest open smile, it feels like redemption.

 

* * *

 

Even though Bucky's memory is full of holes, he still thinks Anthony Stark is almost an exact copy of his father, Howard Stark, down to the stylish little goatee and quirky sense of humor. Except for the glowing supernova trapped inside his chest, and those eyes. Bucky has seen men and women who have faced death and clawed their way out of its steel jaws. Stark's eyes are like that, the lingering ghosts barely visible behind the laughter and jokes, but Bucky can see them. Just like Stark, he has seen death in its full terrible glory.

He sits there in Stark's shiny modern lab, the calm heavy weight of Steve's palm warm and solid on his shoulder, anchoring him to the world. Stark talks to a voice inside the wall, a polite British man who greets him with a smooth "good morning, Sergeant Barnes". It's been ages since anyone referred to him as Sergeant Barnes. He feels disconcerted until Steve smiles kindly and tells him "JARVIS" is a friend.

Steve had informed him Stark liked to surround himself with man-made friends, but so far, he's only heard the bodiless voice and spied a motionless arm sort of thing with wheels in the back, parked motionlessly by the table.

"You should have brought him here sooner," Stark is saying, but Bucky is distracted by the soft sensation of Steve's thumb rubbing circles into the nape of his neck. He wants to lean into Steve's warmth, but forces himself to stop thinking about it.

"This arm is marginally heavier than his organic limb. It gets the job done, I'm sure. Russian equipment alway do, but it's gotta hurt like a bitch, all that weight grinding down on the bones, not to mention the heavy metal poisoning."

" _Poisoning_?" Steve asks tensely, his hand tightening a fraction. Bucky wants to tell him it's okay, the arm barely hurts, and he doesn't feel any effects from the poisoning. Everything is okay, as long as Steve's here.

Stark raises his eyebrow, flipping the small shiny screwdriver in his hand in a smooth arc. "I'm sure everyone feels better with the American Dream standing next to them, darlin', but you're probably drugged up to your ears 24/7 or the pain is so constant, you just push it to the back of your mind. You know, like you can detect if there's a funny smell in the room when you first walk in, but after a while, it stops registering in your senses."

Steve looks at him with pained and horror-struck eyes. Bucky hunches inside his baggy hoodie and scowls. He is starting to dislike Tony Stark and his ability to read him like a book.

"As for the poisoning, my theory is that your version of the serum counteracts the effects." He gauges Bucky's stubborn lack of expression for a second before sighing in defeat. "Why am I _always_ surrounded by self-sacrificing old people who refuse to just open their mouths and ask for help?"

Bucky continues to scowl.

"Okay, forget it. I'm going to take off that arm and replace it with one of my designs," Stark declares, scuttling close on his wheelie chair and puts on a pair of strange glasses that projects shiny images onto his metal limb.

 _Point of incision_.

Stark touches the point of the drill to the surface. Bucky moves without thinking, the arm twisting to wrap around Stark's neck, the latter dropping his tool in surprise.

"Bucky! _Stop_!" Steve's there in an instant and he feels hot bubbling shame well up inside his chest. He's a monster and Steve will hate him-

"It's okay, baby. Look at me, it's okay. Let go, come on, nice and slow." He focuses on Steve's firm voice and relaxes his fingers around Stark's neck. Steve brushes a kiss along his temple as a reward and Stark glances between them with realization dawning in his eyes. He coughs and drags in a few deep breaths.

"No harm done," Stark rasps with a difficult smile, "just one more thing I can cross off my bucket list. JARVIS?"

"Already done so, Sir. _Get Strangled_ and _Attacked By an Elderly Man_ are off the list."

Bucky flexes his metal fingers in warning. Stark gives a strained laugh and scratches his nose.

"You could have crossed the second one off on _our_ first encounter, Tony." Steve points out.

 

* * *

 

He feels a little shattered when the limb finally comes off, its dead weight leaving him in a heady rush. It's disorienting and intoxicating.

Stark is busy removing the last shoulder pieces with the assistance of Dr. Banner, their heads bent together as Stark works.

Steve smiles at him and the strangeness of it all comes back to him. This is the first time he has had the _entire_ metal limb off since HYDRA found him in the snow.

When Stark gives him the good to go, Bucky stands up in a dizzying rush, the left side of his body feather-light compared to the right. He takes a few tottering steps toward Steve, and it's as if his body suddenly has a mind of its own, he stumbles to the right of his targeted destination and nearly collides with the mechanical arm on wheels. It comes alive, to his great surprise, chirps at him and scuttles out of the way like a frightened animal.

"It's alright, Dummy. What did I tell you about manners?" Stark reprimands the machine with a laugh and Steve strides over to steady Bucky in his drunken swagger.

"What's wrong with him, Tony?" Steve asks in concern.

The arm, Dummy as Stark called it, rolls over to the table and sort of " _stares_ " down at the now disconnected limb, at least Bucky thinks it's staring, since he can't make out any eyes on the thing. It blows out a stream of coolant and turns to Stark with an excited chirpy sound.

"No, Dummy. _Down, Boy_." Stark says with a frown. Dummy does a sort of excited shivery flop and goes back to circling the arm like an eager puppy. Bucky and Stark are both too busy staring at its peculiar reaction to notice Steve's impatience.

"Tony," Steve starts and Stark whips his head around abruptly.

"Oh, right, that's normal. He'll experience some trouble with motor functions and balance without the limb, but we'll have the new arm out soon and he should be able to figure something out." Stark explains with a easy grin, slapping Bruce across the back. Steve doesn't really look convinced.

"Oh, also, you need to lend him a hand, like literally, with his daily tasks." He advises.

Steve smiles and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. "Of course I will," he says warmly. 

"Great, well it looks like we're all wrapped up-" Stark says, but Dummy makes the loudest chirp ever and quickly scuttles its way over to Bucky, plastering against Bucky's left side.

"Dummy?" Stark sounds puzzled. Steve also seems confused. Bruce just looks mildly amused by all this.

"It appears as if Dum-E has suddenly developed, in human terms, a crush on Sergeant Barnes and his bionic arm, Sir." The bodiless British voice says helpfully. The arm chirps happily, rubbing itself against Bucky's hip.

" _You little slut, Dummy!_ " Stark exclaims disapprovingly, but Dummy is too busy drooling thin wisps of coolant onto Bucky's jeans.

There's a small pause.

Then Bucky slowly reaches out his other hand and pets it on the nozzle awkwardly.

Dummy chirps happily.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky glares down at the sweatshirt lying innocently on the bed and takes a deep breath. Then, carefully, he burrows his head into the fabric and shimmies until his good arm is in the right position and wiggles-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update! I needed a bit of reminding to dig up the chapter I wrote like a month ago and finish it.
> 
> School is hard and my teachers are ruthless. :P

Bucky glares down at the sweatshirt lying innocently on the bed and takes a deep breath. Then, carefully, he burrows his head into the fabric and shimmies until his good arm is in the right position and wiggles-

The door to the room clicks open and Bucky freezes in the process of worming his way into the old sweatshirt Steve had laid out for him last night. Oh, and he's still in his boxers.

"Bucky, I told you to call me if you needed help, remember?" There's a hint of laughter in Steve's voice and Bucky slumps into the sheets, face burning and absolutely refusing to cooperate when Steve tries to roll him over. "It's okay, baby." There's definitely a laugh now.

"Come on, get up." Steve says good-naturedly. Bucky pretends to be a dead fish. A warm calloused hand slides down to tickle his side and Bucky shoots up like he's been electrocuted. Steve smiles at him innocently and helps him pull down the sweatshirt over his chest.

He helps Bucky with the loose pants and kneels next to the bed to help him slip his shoes on. Bucky leans into the touch when Steve kisses his forehead and pulls him upright.

"Breakfast in five, think you can manage to wash up by yourself?" He asks with a smile. Bucky nods and jogs to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

Steve's cooking breakfast, freshly showered and brimming with energy from his morning jog. Stark is slumped at the kitchen counter with a huge mug of tar-black coffee when Bucky steps into the kitchen. There's a beautiful ginger-haired woman sitting next to him, her worried palm on his forehead as she leans in to talk to him. They all look up when he enters and Bucky is suddenly hit with the urge to bolt for the door. He doesn't get his chance because the beautiful woman stands and moves toward him.

"Oh God Tony, this is James?" She covers her lips with a trembling hand and bursts into happy laughter. "Steve, I can't believe you finally found him."

She smooths her pencil skirt down with a nervous little gesture and offers Bucky her slender hand and pauses awkwardly when he doesn't take it. "Oh to hell with it, Steve." She says and stands on tiptoes to wrap her arms around his startled neck.

Bucky is frozen in shock, but the woman smells very pleasant and her arms are soft and the touch is nice. There's a small hand against the back of his head and Bucky is slumping against her shoulder without thinking, the bridge of his nose buried in her pretty shiny copper hair. Her embrace feels different from Steve's, but it's nice. The uncertainty has gone and he relaxes a little.

"Oh, he's a keeper alright." She says softly and Bucky hears Stark laugh behind them. She pulls back and smiles up at him, her hazel eyes twinkling warmly at him, "Steve's told me so much about you, James. I'm Virginia Potts, but people call me Pepper."

"Because of your hair?" Bucky asks curiously and her eyes widen pleasantly. Steve's stopped cooking by now, watching them with a warm smile.

"Yes," she laughs and takes his right hand in hers, "and because of my temper, I guess. Mostly directed at Tony."

Pepper keeps up the pleasant small talk with him and fusses over Stark's health and hygiene, her affection of him plain in her eyes. Stark just soaks in the love and keeps up the snarky comments, making Pepper laugh and smack him on the arm occasionally.

Tony promises to finish the prototype by the end of the week and runs off to his lab after downing two more mugs of coffee. Pepper goes off to take a phone call. Bucky just sits there and watches them shuffle around the kitchen, leaning into Steve's warm body and enjoying the hand at the nape of his neck. Steve's cellphone rings in his pocket and and the call from someone called Nick obviously agitates him. The name sounds familiar, but Bucky's stomach is full and he's warm, so he lets the information slide to the back of his mind.

"I am aware that Agent Romanov is in danger, but I informed Agent Coulson that I wanted to take a break and take care of some personal matters." Steve pauses and bites his lip in frustration, "yes, sir. I know. Yes. No. I understand, sir. Goodbye."

"They need you," he knows its not a question and Steve looks so guilty it makes Bucky's heart ache. Steve passes a hand over his face, his expression grim as he ends the call.

"No, I chose the world over you once. I'm not going to make that mistake again." He says firmly and cups Bucky's cheek. Bucky looks up at him and Steve leans down to kiss him, regret and grief still evident, but there's also hope and love and...

"I'm not in any danger right now, Captain America," Bucky whispers past soft open-mouth kisses and Steve pulls back in confusion.

"Buck, you want me to go?" He sounds a little hurt.

Bucky sighs and settles his arms around Steve's waist, pressing his face over the calm strong beat of his heart. "I don't," he confesses honestly, "I don't, but this is your dream, protecting the small and weak, it's your duty. You need this, Steve. They need you."

Steve studies his face for a moment, palms heavy and warm on Bucky's neck. "My dream has always been you, but yes, this is my duty I suppose." He sighs and leans down to press a kiss against Bucky's left shoulder. "I just wanted to be here for you right now, especially with that." He gestures helplessly at Bucky's empty sleeve.

"Finish your task and hurry back, then." Bucky puts on what he hopes is a convincing smile.

Steve keeps giving him worried looks when he reluctantly packs for the mission. Bucky ignores the tightness in his chest and plays fetch with Dummy to distract himself, throwing Steve's running shoes off and getting Dummy to retrieve them. When he's done, Steve comes over and they cuddle on the bed for a while. Bucky falls asleep with Steve's hand carding through his hair and wakes up to Pepper's hands instead. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a less businesslike blouse and soft comfortable shoes. She smiles at him and Bucky sits up slowly, blinking at her in confusion.

"He's going to be back as soon as he can," she says with a smile, "shouldn't be too bad, right?"

He nods just for her sake.

"Tony and Bruce are busy making that arm of yours, so I thought I'd take you out for some fun, maybe we can visit the museum, as well." She says, and Bucky humors her by getting up and putting on his clothes even though he's been to the museum almost a dozen times. He can recite the Captain America exhibit word for word.

But Pepper takes him to see the other exhibits, dinosaurs, ancient history, underwater sea creatures, etc. Bucky spends five minutes swaying rhythmically along with the peaceful jellyfish on display. Pepper takes photos of him with a giant model of a lobster and dolphin. They do eventually get to the Captain America exhibit. It feels weirdly different standing there with Pepper, no longer a ghost chasing after a dream. Bucky touches his neck and thinks about Steve's warm kisses and forgiveness.

There are a few people lingering around the exhibit, one small blond kid with a Captain America backpack whose face is plastered against the display. Pepper excuses herself to take a call and Bucky keeps staring at the small child. He's tiny and there are scrapes along his small limbs, a bruise on the corner of his lips. The child whips around to glare at him when he catches Bucky staring at him.

"What're you looking at?" The child rounds on him and Bucky shrugs his shoulders. The kid's eyes widen when he sees the empty shirt-sleeve. He keeps up the menacing glare for all of two seconds before slumping down on the bench next to Bucky.

"Bullies?" Bucky asks quietly.

"Yeah," the kid sniffs loudly, "wish I was strong like Cap so I could kick their asses for messing with me and my sister."

Bucky studies him for a second, "you will," he says eventually, "Captain America was a tiny little bean stalk when he was a kid, too."

"But he was never scared of anything!"

"I can think of a few things he's afraid of, doing his own laundry, finding pickles in his sandwiches and talking to women." Bucky says.

"You're making it up! How would you know?" The kid demands.

"Cause I grew up with him and he was my best friend." Bucky says simply, just as the audio documentation tells the part about Sergeant Barnes who had presumably died in the mountains. The kid's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he opens his mouth.

"James, we have to go, I just received a call. There's someone who wants to see you." Pepper pokes her head back inside.

Bucky gives her an affirmative nod before turning back to the kid who's still gaping up at him. He takes off his baseball hat and drops it over the kid's little blond head and puts a finger to his lips. The kid nods dumbly and Bucky ruffles his hair before walking back to Pepper.

 

* * *

 

They're outside and sitting in a classy little cafe for lunch when Pepper shows him a picture of an old lady. Bucky freezes at the sight and she smiles apologetically at him.

"I guess you recognize her, then?" She asks. Bucky nods. Peggy Carter, beautiful, proud, and fiercely in love with Steve. Steve had probably loved her equally fierce. He feels a lump settle in his throat.

"She's not in really good shape right now, Sharon, who's her niece, told me her aunt wanted to see you before she goes into operation tomorrow morning." Pepper gives him a comforting smile and takes his hand, squeezing softly. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, James."

"I do," he says, surprising even himself as he squeezes back. "I want to see her, Pepper."

 

* * *

 

The hospital room is bleak and impersonal, but there are flowers, pictures and an old quilt draped over the foot of the bed to add a bit of warmth to the cold room. He pauses in the doorway and contemplates how to greet her, the woman who'd shot him down mercilessly in that dingy little bar nearly seventy years ago, back when they'd all been young things, untainted, unbroken and free of scars. Now she's a frail little old lady lying in a hospital bed and he's got metal where his left hand should have been.

"Oh, James Buchanan Barnes." Peggy's the first to break the silence, her voice unsteady with age and heavy with emotion. He moves to sit by the bed and she shifts to look at him, one withered hand reaching out to touch his.

"Miss Carter," the words slip out without conscious thought. She blinks back tears and studies him with a trembling smile, now only a ghost of her old self.

"Oh, you handsome rascal, still so young, just like him..." She touches his cheek wistfully with her hand. "He's finally found you."

"Peggy, Steve loved you." He blurts out and she laughs a little.

"No, darling, he didn't. Steve tried so hard to, but it was always you," she smiles sadly at him. "You were his everything, James. And for a while I hated you because when you fell, he was completely destroyed. Steve, who'd never hurt a soul, vowed to hunt down every single person responsible and kill all of them, for you." She coughs and Bucky tries to stop her from talking. She refuses the glass of water when he hands it to her.

"Peggy-" Bucky says helplessly.

"No, James Buchanan Barnes, you listen up and you listen well," she coughs again and takes a deep rattling breath. "Sharon told me about everything you've been through, but you have to suck it up and get your shit together because every cut you receive, he hurts ten times worse. Steve loves you, only you, so you do your best to heal and love him back. Do you hear me, Sergeant Barnes?" Her voice cracks at the end and there are tears in her eyes, but Bucky sees the old Peggy Carter in there, the fierce woman who'd earned Steve's respect so many years ago.

"Yes, ma'am." He whispers and clasps her hand tightly in his.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, 'Somewhere, my flower is there . . .’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the nearly year-long wait. I'm updating! Don't burn me at the stake. :S
> 
> Leave me some love! And Hurrah for bamf!couple Tony and Pepper. Also, JARVIS is a pro at calming people down. As you can see, Pepper Potts is my favorite of all the females in the MCU verse. Maria Hill is a close second.

 

It’s raining outside, painting the New York night into a blurry grey slushy canvas. Bucky presses his forehead into the cold glass and huffs out a warm breath, watching as the bright night lights of the city blurs through the condensation. He's curled in a thick blanket in Steve’s room with only the top of his brown head peeking out. Maybe Steve’s mission would end early and he’d come back early, and maybe, just maybe, he’d look up with his super serum-enhanced vision and see Bucky sitting there by their window and waiting for him to return, and he’d get to see that affectionate crooked smile again…

The world seems to lose some of its color when Steve’s not here, he thinks, burrowing further into the warmth and inhaling his best friend’s familiar scent. He’s so very fortunate, Bucky knows. To be welcomed back with comforting hugs and loving kisses instead of disappointment and confinement. Sometimes, he still can’t believe everything is true, can’t wrap his head around the fact that Steve would still want him here, him with his broken shards and bloody past.

Bucky’s nodding off against the cold glass when the door to their bedroom slides open and Howard Stark’s son pokes his rumpled head into the room. He’s got a glob of something that looks like flour dough caked to his left cheek and goatee. He grins lopsidedly at Bucky and makes a quick beckoning gesture with one hand. The other is clutching a wooden spatula.

“Hey, Barnes. Pepper says I should get a kitchen buddy before I burn the whole tower down. Wanna join my team? She’s double-crossed me and stabbed me in the back by picking Bruce. We decided we’d get together and make dinner tonight, since it’s your first night away from Cap and all. It’s turned into a cook-off and high-stakes bet, but I think we’ll get sympathy points because Pepper’s kinda in love with how cute you are and wants to cuddle you for eternity. Her words, not mine.”

Bucky stares, dumb-founded. He doesn’t understand how Stark can talk that fast and that long without sucking in a breath. It should be physically impossible, but the dark-haired man just grins, shifting restlessly and beckoning at him again.

“What do ya say? Join me?”

 

* * *

 

“This isn’t fair,” Pepper pouts, dipping a spoon into the bubbling pot of vegetable soup Bucky has on the stove and taking a careful sip. Tony cackles delightedly from his spot perched on the kitchen counter.

“The billionaire genius Anthony Edward Stark wins again! Ha, in your faces!” He shouts, swinging his legs and brandishing his spatula like a sword. Bruce hides his smile behind his hand.

“You didn’t even do anything. If I had know James was such a brilliant cook, I would’ve chosen him first.” Pepper says and Tony gasps in mock anger, pointing at her accusingly with his cooking utensil.

“You harlot!”

“Do you even know what that means?” Pepper shoots him an unimpressed look and grabs the detachable sprinkler by the kitchen sink. She pulls it off the hook and sprays her boyfriend in the face.

“Yes, I do in fact know what harlot means. It means a prostitute. Gah, so much water in my eyes!” Tony manages to say. Pepper turns up the water a little more just to spite him.

He laughs quietly when the billionaire genius flips over the counter in his attempt to squirm away from the water attack. It’s a tiny thing and Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Stark picks himself up and they all turn to him with wide eyes. Pepper smiles back, her eyes crinkling with warm affection.

“Ha, I made him laugh! I’m his favorite now, Peps. No take backs!” Stark whoops, pumping a fist dramatically in the air and shaking his wet head like a dog, sending droplets of water everywhere.

Bucky lowers his eyes back to the bubbling pot and feels a tiny bit of his melancholy melt away as Steve’s friends laugh around him.

Not just Steve's friends anymore, _his friends_ , he thinks and smiles.

 

* * *

 

It’s the middle of the night and he’s still awake.

The room feels foreign and hostile without Steve’s presence. He’d gotten so used to falling asleep to Steve’s voice and being held in his arms, it’s impossible to nod off without them. Bucky knows he’s being unreasonable and that he’s slept in worse conditions before, but that had only been the times when his mind forcefully shut his body off in order to recuperate when he’d been on the run. The Winter Soldier only slept when he had to, because that’s when the nightmares would come out to torment him.

He’s curled up on his side and gripping the sheets so tightly his blunt nails are digging white crescents into his palm. Bucky tries to keep his breathing even, but the darkness of the empty room makes it a difficult task. He slips out of bed and turns on the lights. He’s pacing restlessly when the voice in the ceiling speaks, making Bucky jump and flinch back from the wall.

“My apologies for startling you, Sergeant Barnes. But may I be of assistance or would you like for me to notify Sir and Miss Potts?” The ghost in the wall says in a polite smooth British voice.

“I can’t sleep.” he confesses softly, dropping down on the bed and curling into a tight ball. “Steve’s not here and I need him to be here to...” He swallows hard and touches the thin leather ring around his neck. Would Steve abandon him like this? What if he’s not good enough, and Steve doesn’t want him anymore. The thought makes Bucky’s heart rate spike into overdrive and he’s on the verge of a panic attack when the voice speaks again, a slight hint of thoughtfulness laced in the soothing vowels.

“May I suggest an alternative?” The disembodied voice says. He shakes his head wordlessly into the sheets and refuses to cooperate.

There’s a brief pause before the voice speaks again, and this time, Bucky’s eyes widen at the sound, because it’s not the velvety British voice anymore.

It’s Steve, his tone warm and affectionate.

 _"Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called_ True Stories from Nature _, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.”_

He lifts his face off the wrinkled sheets and there it is, a shimmering picture inches from his face. Bucky barely notices the lights in the room dimming slowly, so captivated by the sound of Steve’s soothing voice and the golden glimmering holograms. He doesn’t know how long he’s been curled there, peering with wide eyes at the strangely beautiful images and listening to the fairy-tale the voice in the ceiling spins for him, but he’s so engrossed he doesn’t even notice the two figures slipping silently into the room. It isn’t until the side of the bed dips that he becomes aware of Pepper’s soft rosy scent.

“It’s going to be okay, James.” She whispers in the dark, “Tony just received news that Steve’s located Agent Romanov. They’re going to head to the nearest checkpoint and hopefully take a jet back to New York. Thanks for waking us, Jarvis.”

He lets Pepper move closer and pull him into her arms. He drops his cheek against her shoulder and closes his eyes when she begins petting his hair. He’s suddenly reminded of his mother, once upon a time long ago.

“Interesting choice, JARVIS. _The Little Prince_ , huh? Classic. I taught you well, minion.” Stark whispers approvingly as he drops down to sit on Bucky’s other side. “Say, you didn’t tell Daddy you could mimic people’s voices. Can you make Natasha read some hot lesbian porn? Ow, sorry Pepper.”

He rubs his arm ruefully and settles down, the gentle glow of the supernova in his chest chasing away some of the darkness in the room. “Am I being too bright?” Stark asks. Bucky shakes his head before he realizes Stark probably can’t see it in the dark and says softly, “no, I like it.” The man hums his approval and falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles into Pepper’s nightgown. She shushes him with a quiet affectionate laugh and gathers him closer. Stark brackets his other side, not touching but close enough so that he feels the man’s warm presence, and suddenly the shadows in the room do not seem so intimidating anymore.

He closes his eyes and slowly slips off to sleep to the sound of Steve’s comforting voice.

_"If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, 'Somewhere, my flower is there . . .’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will definitely be more D/S elements later on, but I wanted to write some fluff first. 
> 
> Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's Le Petit Prince is my favorite book of all time. I have the book in over a dozen languages.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets back on a Friday.
> 
> He’d been restless the whole way, and incidentally ends up annoying quite a few SHIELD agents and Natasha, but Steve just wants to see Bucky again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff...
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

Steve gets back on a Friday.

He’d been restless the whole way, and incidentally ends up annoying quite a few SHIELD agents and Natasha, but Steve just wants to see Bucky again. The ache that had began a tiny mild thing, tugging at the back of his mind the moment he stepped out of the Avengers tower, had morphed into this blind need. Granted, he’d been a bit more reckless than usual with the extraction, even Natasha had stopped to comment what with her broken wrist and bleeding abdomen, but he’d successfully rescued her and finished the mission had he not? And now she’s recovering in the closest SHIELD medical, while he may have…snuck out…before they’d given him the ‘good to go’.

He’d nearly broken the speed limit on his way over to the tower.

“What are you doing here?!” Tony backpedals the moment Steve steps out of the elevator and into the common living area. He cocks his head to the side and gives Stark a puzzled frown as he tosses his motorcycle keys onto the counter.

“I live here, Tony. Have I somehow been kicked out in the past few days?” He asks distractedly, all the while scanning the room for any sign of the man that had been on his mind for the past seventy-three and a half hours. Yes, he’d been keeping track.

“You’re supposed to be at SHIELD Medical, Steve.” Tony says, eyebrows drawing together in a worried frown as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, “and I quote Agent Coulson, ‘Mr. Stark, I am writing to inform you that Captain Rogers has not in fact been cleared by the doctors, no matter how much he insists otherwise. He has three cracked ribs, concussion, a sprained wrist and _mild internal bleeding?!’_ ” The billionaire is practically grinding the words out by the end as he shoots Steve a look of pure disbelief. Tony reaches out a hand and jerks Steve’s shirt up for a quick assessment. The mess of purple and blue imprinted on his torso makes the billionaire flinch back, eyes wide with horror.

“Mild. I’ll be okay in a couple of hours.” Steve points out impatiently. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s fine, Rogers. I told you Pepper and I would take care of him, didn’t we? What are you so worried about? It’s only been three days.” Stark answers.

“Exactly. Three days.” He scowls, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice any longer. Why can’t anyone understand him? "Tony, Bucky’s been back for barely a month. I shouldn’t even leave his side for thirty minutes. Has he been able to sleep? Where is he?”

“Yes, he’s been sleeping. We worked out a thing between the three of us, no it’s not something dirty, quit looking at me like that.” Tony shoots Steve an annoyed look, “He’s been quiet, choosing to stay in your room, but things are fine. We hung out in the kitchen and watched movies every night, Pepper took him to the museum, and I even made him laugh. He’s doing okay, Cap. You should’t worry so much."

Some of the tension building in Steve’s shoulders seem to dissipate at Tony’s words. He smiles a little in gratitude, “Thanks for taking care of him for me, Tony. I owe you big."

Stark sighs and grudgingly smiles back. “That’s what friends are for, Rogers. We’ve got your back, all of us. You’re a ninety-six-year-old man, for God’s sake, start acting your age.”

“I will,” He promises, “Now may I be excused, _Mother?_ ”

Tony rolls his eyes and dismissed him with a flap of his hand.

 

* * *

 

“Buck?”

When he opens the door to his bedroom, Steve finds Bucky standing inches from him, those dark blue eyes wide with what looks oddly like panic. He makes to hug him, but Bucky flinches and scuttles back to make space between them, much to Steve’s hurt confusion.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” He can’t keep the weariness from his voice anymore. The sight of Bucky flinching away from his touch stabs deeper than any physical wound, and all the exhaustion of the mission suddenly resurface in a dizzying rush. He sways on his feet a bit, but Steve manages to reach the bed before his legs give out completely. He stretches his aching limbs and breathes in Bucky's familiar scent in their shared bedroom.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” He admits out loud, breaking the tension. Steve has his back to him, so he can’t see the expression on Bucky’s face when he opens his mouth.

“You’re hurt.” Bucky says, voice pained, and despite the anguish in his voice, Steve still feels a surge of relief. Bucky is just worried about aggravating his wounds.

“You’re hurt, because I made you worry.” There’s definitely a hint of self-loathing in his voice now.

_Lord, no._

“It’s my fault.” Bucky says, voice cracking.

“It’s not your-” Steve tries to stand, but ends up stumbling and unexpectedly dropping to one knee, a hand coming up to cradle his aching ribs. Bucky immediately rushes over to support him, eyes wide with panic. Steve takes his good hand and curls warm calloused fingers over Bucky’s thin wrist, bringing his hand up to his face. He presses a soft reassuring kiss into Bucky’s open palm. “It’s alright. I’m fine.”

“It’s not your fault, Buck. It’s all mine, because I was impatient to finish the extraction and come home to you. I wasn’t certain you’d still be here.” He whispers past a tentative smile, searching Bucky’s face for permission to initiate something more intimate. “I couldn’t let you leave, not after finally convincing you to stay.” Bucky’s eyes are red-rimmed when he peers back. Steve takes a deep breath and chuckles, “I don’t think I’ll survive that,” he admits, “I’ll die if I lose you again, Buck. I would.”

“You won’t,” Bucky whispers back, shuffling closer and cautiously pressing his open palm over Steve’s aching heart. “I will protect you from now on.” He promises solemnly, his wide sad eyes boring into Steve’s. “I won’t leave unless you want me to. I will do anything you say.”

“Baby, I will _never ever_ tell you to leave.” He whispers, cupping Bucky’s pale round cheeks with careful hands. Steve smiles fondly, “Will you really do anything I ask?”

Bucky nods seriously. Steve leans forward and gently ghosts their lips together.

“Give me a proper welcome back hug, then.” He requests quietly. Bucky bites his lower lip for a second before shuffling around to settle behind him. He cautiously presses his weight against Steve’s unmarked back and buries his face into the blond man’s neck. Steve's eyes are little wet when he leans back against the warm solid weight behind him, heart finally settling in his chest when their fingers tangle tightly together.

 

* * *

 

Looking back, Bucky may have taken this whole “I will protect you from now on” thing a tad bit too seriously.

“Stay,” Bucky tells him.

Steve hides his smile behind his hand and nods from where he’s propped on at least five of the fluffiest softest pillows Bucky could find. There’s a soft Iron Man-themed blanket (courtesy of Tony) covering his legs, and a full glass of water and a leather-bound book on the bedside table.

“Don’t move.” Bucky ducks back in and says again. Steve nods encouragingly.

“But you can move if you’re thirsty, or if you want to read.” Bucky clarifies, popping back in for the third time.

“Got it, sweetie.” Steve replies.

The fourth time, Bucky actually steps back inside and comes up to his side. Steve tips his head back in confused amusement as Bucky stares down at him with indecisive eyes for the longest moment. Then the brunet leans down and kisses him shyly, just a soft brief brush of dry lips on his left cheek.

Stunned speechless, Steve peers up at him.

“I won’t leave. Promise.” Bucky says seriously.

Steve’s lips curl up into a loose smile. “I know.” He tells him before finally relaxing back against the pillows.

When the door next opens, Bucky slips inside with Tony obediently at his heels, a tray of food balanced in his arms. The billionaire heaves an exaggerated sigh when he sets the tray in Steve’s lap, but grins and tells the captain to enjoy before shutting the door behind him. Steve glances down and suddenly has to swallow past the hot lump in throat.

It’s tomato rice soup.

Bucky carefully eases himself onto the other side of the bed, wide blue eyes never leaving Steve’s quietly stunned face.

It even smells the same, that exact same warm inviting scent he’d come to associate with a burning fever and being nursed back to health by his best friend. His fingers are a bit unsteady when he touches the spoon.

“Did you make this for me, Buck?” He asks past stinging eyes. Bucky nods cautiously.

“I tried to make it how I remembered you liked it.” He explains softly, biting his lower lip nervously, “My memory’s not really good...”

Steve blinks past the hot moisture gathering in his eyes and takes a small bite. Bucky watches him solemnly as he chews and swallows. He blinks when Steve blows on the spoon and unexpectedly lifts it up to his mouth.

“Here, try it.” The blond man coaxes gently.

He does, obediently taking in the small warm mouthful and chewing carefully. “Is it bad?” Bucky asks, swallowing and cocking his head to the side. “Why are your eyes red?”

Steve wipes guiltily at his face and shoots him his brightest smile, “No, baby. It tastes exactly like before.” He laughs softly and continues, recalling the fond memories before the war, “Remember when I used to get sick and refused to eat? You would spend hours making up these outlandish stories just to coax me to open my mouth.”

Bucky shakes his head, eyes a little sad. Steve reaches out and gently flicks the tip of his nose in an effort to chase away the melancholy. Bucky blinks owlishly at him before taking the spoon from the bowl. He blows on the soup and holds it out in front of Steve’s mouth.

“You’re hurt,” He explains seriously. “I always take care of you when you’re hurt.” His tone sounds inquisitive, a bit uncertain, so Steve does the only thing he knows that will reassure him.

He leans forward and eats the soup.

Something settles in Bucky’s eyes as he edges closer, carefully feeding the rest of the soup to Steve, his watchful gaze never straying from Steve’s face.

“Did you miss me, sweetie?” Steve asks when they finish the food between them, carefully pulling Bucky close and pressing a gentle kiss to the other man’s temple.

“Yes.” Bucky tells him, shifting a bit so he doesn’t press on any of Steve’s injuries. “I couldn’t sleep, but the ghost in the ceiling told me stories in your voice, and Pepper and Tony came over.”

“Yeah? what did Jarvis read to you?”

Bucky scrunches up his nose and thinks. Steve thinks it’s probably the most adorable expression in the world, but he keeps it to himself, eyes trained on Bucky’s face as he recalls the contents of the story.

“There was a little prince,” Bucky says slowly, chewing absent-mindedly on a strand of his hair as he picks at a loose thread on Steve’s old sweatshirt. “He met a stranded pilot in the Sahara, but the little prince was from another planet. He was sad because he fell in love with a rose and left her back at home…"

Steve smiles and cups a hand over Bucky’s cheek, sweeping away the loose brown strands and peering into his inquisitive eyes. “I fell in love with a rose, too.”

“So every time you leave…” Bucky begins after a thoughtful pause.

“I miss my rose.” He confirms, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Jarvis recommended that book to me, too. And who do you think I thought of while I was reading it?”

Bucky’s cheeks are faintly pink when he opens his mouth to answer. “Me?"

Steve leans over and kisses the word from his lips.

 

* * *

 

_One sees clearly only with the heart._

_Anything essential is invisible to the eyes. . ._

_It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important. . ._

_People have forgotten this truth, the fox said, But you mustn’t forget it._

_You become responsible for what you’ve tamed._

_You’re responsible for your rose. . .  
_

 

_\- The Little Prince_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You become responsible for what you've tamed. That's one of my favorite lines in the book.


End file.
